


let it be known that I was worthy

by cherryfeather



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Episode Tag, M/M, Praise Kink, Resolved Sexual Tension, coda to the bar scene, during 2x04 "Emilie"
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-10 21:57:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3304859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherryfeather/pseuds/cherryfeather
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"Do you want to be alone?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"...No."</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Wine?"</i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Yes."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	let it be known that I was worthy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [breathtaken](https://archiveofourown.org/users/breathtaken/gifts).



> Apparently, if you say "#where is the fic tbh", you have to write it. So I did. This is actually, I realized, the first time I have written in d'Artagnan's voice? And I quite like it. So, thanks for the poke, Nat.
> 
> Title is from Two Door Cinema Club's [Sleep Alone](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YNXybY2DtwM), which has been The D'Artagnan And Athos Song in my head since I heard it. This is the first fic I have written for just the two of them; it seemed appropriate to use my headcanon song for the title, because I grew up on FF.net in the early 00s and that's just how it is ok.

_"Do you want to be alone?"_

_"...No."_

_"Wine?"_

_"Yes."_

 

Athos hasn't said much more than that, and they're halfway through their second bottle of wine. D'Artagnan tried, at first, but Athos just gave him one of those dead-eyed looks and said, "I said I didn't want to be alone. I didn't say I want to talk."

D'Artagnan can't stand Athos being alone, either. It all feels too much like losing Athos all over again, losing Athos to the way he was before. D'Artagnan never wants to trade the Athos he has now for the Athos he first met--lonely, cold, miles away when he was standing right next to you.

So d'Artagnan sits, and he drinks, and he watches Athos. Athos' eyes, if you know how to look, can tell you everything he's thinking, and d'Artagnan's gotten much better at looking at Athos than he was when he first met him. 

(He has, he's fairly sure, spent far too much time looking at Athos. But that's neither here nor there right now.)

Athos blinked rapidly at first, trying to keep himself from dwelling on anything for too long. Then, when they were draining the dregs of their first bottle, his eyes grew heavy, downcast, and d'Artagnan knows that's how he looks when he's thinking about something too hard, for too long--when he can't keep it away.

Now, with their second bottle half-empty, Athos' eyes are closed, and he slumps over the table, his head held up in one hand and his face half-covered by his fingers. The thumb of his other hand traces back and forth over the base of his wine cup, the way you'd stroke over a lover's hand. 

That means he's remembering, and d'Artagnan throws back the rest of his own glass to wash away the dread in the back of his throat. He can't do this. He can't lose Athos to this.

Even through all his time with Constance, d'Artagnan's never shaken his puppy-love infatuation with Athos. He's tried to shake it. By all rights, Athos shooting him in the side when it was supposed to be his shoulder should have killed it. And when that didn't work, finding out Athos' past should have at least dulled it--finding out Athos has as many flaws as anyone else, as many shadows and demons and mistakes as an ordinary human being. He's not the demigod d'Artagnan couldn't help but see him as, at the beginning. 

But God have mercy, that just makes d'Artagnan love him more. To know that Athos can barely face himself in the mirror, but stands so tall, fights so passionately, cares for his brothers and his country so deeply--how could d'Artagnan not love him still, knowing all that?

"What?" Athos says, and d'Artagnan jumps. 

One blue eye is open, looking at him blearily. He clears his throat. "What?" He hasn't been _saying all that out loud,_ surely not--

"You had a look." _Thank God._ Athos' eye closes again, and his fingers trace sleepily over the stem of his goblet. "Do you miss her, then?"

D'Artagnan's going to say _no, are you mad, she tried to kill me--_ Then he realizes Athos means Constance, and his throat tightens.

"Yes," he gets out. "But I--wasn't thinking about her," he adds quietly, and pours another glass.

Athos wordlessly holds out his cup, and d'Artagnan fills it. Athos lifts his head and the cup, and throws it back in one gulp. He swallows, grimaces, sets his cup back down.

Then he drops his head into both hands with a groan. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, and his shoulders seem to crumple in. 

D'Artagnan can't stand to watch this anymore. "Athos, you should go home." 

And for the second time tonight, Athos surprises him. "Yes," Athos mumbles against his wrists. "Will you walk with me?"

D'Artagnan has to drain his glass before he can speak. "Of course."

Athos isn't drunk enough to need help. D'Artagnan's sure of that. This is Athos still not wanting to be alone. He wants d'Artagnan to stay with him. 

D'Artagnan isn't the eager-to-please stripling he was when he came to Paris. But as long as Athos gives him leave, he will trail happily at Athos' heels until the day he dies.

They walk side by side back to Athos' lodgings, their shoulders pressed close together. Athos doesn't stumble, and he probably doesn't need d'Artagnan's occasional hand between his shoulder blades when they turn corners. D'Artagnan does it anyway, and Athos doesn't pull away.

He usually pulls away--he always has before. Is he this broken-down by Milady's return, that he'll take even d'Artagnan's clumsy efforts at comfort? God above, d'Artagnan hates her. She, and only she, has the power to destroy Athos like this--to divide them, to drag Athos back to some terrible jail of memory and keep him locked away there. He'd been doing so well. He'd been getting _better._

The moon comes in through the slats of the window, but d'Artagnan lights a candle anyway. Athos' rooms are cleaner than d'Artagnan has ever seen them, and for some awful reason that just makes d'Artagnan more upset. He _was_ getting better, before she came back. There aren't bottles everywhere; his blankets seem clean, the room's been aired out. 

Athos sits down heavily on the edge of his bed, looking miles away, further than ever, and it reminds d'Artagnan of the way he'd looked in the burning light of his family home, and d'Artagnan sits down beside him. He's a little drunk, too--he probably wouldn't do this sober (God, he hopes he wouldn't do this sober), but he puts his hand on Athos' shoulder and grips it tightly. "Athos, you can't let her ruin this," he says, and Athos gives him a startled look.

Ah, right. Because the first part of that thought had been all in his own head. D'Artagnan squeezes his eyes shut and tries to reorder his scattered brain. "I mean. You've seemed so happy these past few months. Don't let this--let it take you away. You need to stay with us." 

Fuck, he's drunker than he thought. 

D'Artagnan blows out an exasperated breath. "That didn't make sense at all," he mutters under his breath.

One corner of Athos' mouth pulls up. "No, it did," he says, and that little smile makes d'Artagnan's breast flood with happiness. "Thank you for the reminder. I do need it, on occasion."

Those eyes are still heavy, still a little wide and sorrowful--but they're fixed on d'Artagnan, at least. They aren't distant, like he's looking at d'Artagnan but not really seeing him. Athos is here, in this room, with him. 

Athos shifts his weight, pressing against d'Artagnan's side, letting d'Artagnan hold him up, and d'Artagnan wraps an arm around his shoulders. He pulls Athos close, letting their temples rest against each other, and he doesn't know if it's the wine or his own thumping heart that makes him so warm. Athos, close. Athos, trusting him. D'Artagnan doing something for him that Athos can't do for himself. 

"I don't want to lose this," he hears himself saying. He doesn't want to say this, but it's too late, his lips are moving and his throat is pushing out air he wants to take back before he's done saying it: "I don't want to lose you to her again." 

The minute silence falls again, Athos goes very still, and d'Artagnan closes his eyes in momentary despair.

Well, that sounded like a jealous lover, if anything at all.

Athos is stiff against him, and d'Artagnan curses himself for a fool. "I mean," he says, trying to save the wonderful closeness of the moment before, "it, it feels like--the past few months, it's been--" There is literally nothing he can say that will erase the undeniable possessiveness of what he just said, why is he drunk, _why is he an idiot?_

Athos straightens, turning to look at him, and d'Artagnan closes his mouth. He's expecting Athos' eyes to be shuttered, his face closed-off, and d'Artagnan will leave, because it will be clear that Athos has had enough of him now.

But Athos doesn't seem angry. His eyes are open, soft, in a way d'Artagnan rarely sees them--at least, sees them directed at him. 

But it's the way Athos looks at Porthos and Aramis.

"I will never," Athos says, very quietly, "leave you."

Oh.

This moment--with Athos' arm pressed against his, and Athos' eyes clear in the candlelight, and Athos' words hanging in the air--d'Artagnan lets it etch itself into his memory. So he'll have it, forever, in case what he does next ruins everything.

"Can I stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice just as soft. "I--don't want to be alone, either."

And Athos' face does a strange thing. It sharpens--there's no other way to describe it--but not in a wary way, the way it does when they're about to be killed, when things have gone wrong. It's the way he looks in the practice yard, when he's teaching d'Artagnan swordplay, when d'Artagnan's picked up something clever--something that Athos can now test fully.

"How," Athos asks, not breaking the hush that's fallen over the room, "would you like to stay?"

D'Artagnan doesn't feel drunk anymore. His heart is beating too fast, his skin tingling with pins and needles. 

The air is different. He's different. Everything's different, and--oh, God.

"You know," he says, all at once convinced. "You've always known."

"I have always guessed," Athos corrects him gently. "I only just now _knew._ "

D'Artagnan is shivering. "For pity, or--or repayment...?" For helping him home, for being kind, for learning, for his unceasing dedication to the regiment, to Athos himself--because surely, after comtesses and noblewomen, why would a Gascon farm boy--?

Athos cuts him off with a hand to d'Artagnan's cheek, turning his face closer. D'Artagnan's throat closes even as his mouth drops open. 

"For someone with such a high opinion of his own skills," Athos says, a trace of his old humor back, "I'm amazed you couldn't think simply _for yourself._ "

"That's entirely different," d'Artagnan says, his mouth moving without his brain's approval again.

Athos smirks at him. "Halfway different."

Then he leans in and kisses him.

D'Artagnan can't believe this is happening. Luckily, his mouth has decided not to wait for him tonight, and saves him by insistently returning Athos' kiss, the moment it's given. Athos' lips were moving gently over his own, but the minute d'Artagnan has any say in it, he's licking into Athos' mouth and Athos' lips part over his own, and then d'Artagnan's being held in place as Athos shows him exactly whose idea this kiss was again, and he's hot all over and _oh, oh._

Then Athos' meaning connects in his head, and d'Artagnan breaks away to stare incredulously at him. "Swordplay?" he pants. "Did you _really_ just--"

The flash of Athos' smile in the darkness stuns him into silence, and then they're kissing again. D'Artagnan tries to remember that he's always trusted Athos' judgment, that if Athos has chosen him then there must be reasons, but still--

"Why me?" he gasps against Athos' neck, as Athos' teeth scrape over the line of his jaw. "Why me, why now--"

Athos draws back just enough so their eyes can meet. His pupils have blown wide, his lips are kiss-chapped, and d'Artagnan nearly kisses him again just because he is one of the most beautiful creatures d'Artagnan has ever--

"You saved my life," Athos says, and d'Artagnan's restless thoughts cease entirely. Athos reaches up, pushes d'Artagnan's loose hair away from his face, and his thumbs come to rest in the hollows of d'Artagnan's jaw. "Not just the day we met, or the fire. Tonight. Every night."

His eyes are soft, dark and gentle. He's never looked at Aramis or Porthos like this. He's never looked at Milady this way, he didn't look at the Comtesse de Larroque this way.

This is d'Artagnan's look.

"Or perhaps," Athos says slowly, "in fact, I should say--" He falters, color flooding up into his face, and his hesitation is so _sweet_ that d'Artagnan can't bear it. But Athos swallows and goes on. "You remind me that there _is_ life. But I couldn't--I could never act on it, not if you didn't feel the same. An old soldier's infatuation isn't--"

Joy bubbles up in d'Artagnan's chest, and he lunges for Athos. He kisses him hard and fast, gasping out words between kisses because Athos has to know-- "An _infatuation_ , did you really think I didn't too--do you have any idea, Athos, you--"

"Well, I do now," Athos pants, hooks one arm around d'Artagnan's waist and drags him closer. "D'Artagnan, you--"

"No, shut up, I'm trying to tell you--" D'Artagnan swings a leg over Athos' lap and climbs on top of him, pushes Athos back into the sheets, and he falls, stares up at d'Artagnan in wide-eyed amazement. "Every day, you amaze me, not--not swords and muskets, but after everything that the world has done to you--" 

Oh, God, he's just going to say it, and d'Artagnan sucks in a breath and lets his worship pour out of him like firelight. "You're generous, you're brave, you're kind, you're the most noble person I've ever met and you still try every single day, and that's _amazing_ , how could I not--"

"Stop," Athos commands him, his voice cracking and his eyes bright, and surges up to kiss d'Artagnan silent.

They roll, and all the air rushes from d'Artagnan's lungs at the feel of Athos' weight over him. He gasps for cold air, hot everywhere their bodies are touching, but he feels lighter than ever--all the fear and pain, they're gone, all the melancholy and the solitude pressing down on them. 

It's amazing, it's precious, he never wants to lose the way he and Athos feel together right now.

"Don't let anyone take this away," d'Artagnan begs him, his fingers tight in Athos' leathers, dragging him closer, like he wants to crawl inside Athos and never come out. "Nothing, Athos, nothing ever--"

"Never," Athos swears, and d'Artagnan kisses the promise off his lips so he'll give it again. "Never, never--" 

He presses the word into d'Artagnan's neck, his jaw, his chest, as his hands strip d'Artagnan of his jacket, untie his shirt and let it fall open at his neck. _Never, never, never_ against his collarbones, against his breastbone, until d'Artagnan is shaking and arching up into him.

Never lose this. Never let anything take this away from them. Never lose Athos to his demons again, never let the past and their mistakes come between them again. 

"Never, Athos," he gasps, twisting his fingers in Athos' hair as Athos kisses over his heart. "Please, never--"

"With my last breath, d'Artagnan," Athos whispers into his skin, against d'Artagnan's chest as he gasps for air. 

D'Artagnan's eyes burn with tears, and he fists his hands in Athos' hair and drags him up. He's scrambling for Athos' skin, needs to touch him _now_ , and Athos surrenders to him. He lets d'Artagnan strip him to the waist, and d'Artagnan drags off his own clothes, and they press skin to skin and kiss like they'd drown without each other's lips.

They could slow down. They could breathe. It could be all reverent touches and sweet, soft kissing, bringing each other slowly to incredible heights and soaring down together.

That's not even close to what d'Artagnan wants right now. 

He wants to sob Athos' name into his shoulder as Athos bites down hard over the scar d'Artagnan got when he took a knife for him. He wants to dig his fingers into Athos' hips and haul him close, suck a mark into his neck that Athos will hide with his scarf in the morning. He wants to thrash wildly in Athos' hold as Athos pins him with a forearm across his hips and thrusts a hand into his trousers, getting a hand around his stiffening cock with unerring accuracy.

Fuck, he wants that most of all, and when it happens, it feels like he's dying.

"Athos, _Athos_ ," he chokes, arching and curling with the rhythm of Athos' hand. 

"I'm here," Athos says, his eyes locked on d'Artagnan's face as he touches him. "I"m right here, I always will be--"

D'Artagnan gasps blasphemies and twists under Athos' touch, his _eyes_ \--

"Come for me, let me see you," Athos breathes.

D'Artagnan only realizes he was screaming when he's spent and his throat's raw.

Athos kisses him back to life, kisses every inch of his face with trembling hands, and d'Artagnan rolls him over until he can kneel between Athos' legs and worship him the way he's always wanted to.

Athos' breath comes fast and hard as d'Artagnan kisses over his stomach and hips, digs his teeth into the meat of his thighs and presses sucking kisses there, until Athos is shaking head to toe and d'Artagnan can bury his face in the join of Athos' legs and torso and breathe in the arousal pouring off his skin in waves.

"Please, d'Artagnan," Athos gasps, and d'Artagnan nearly comes at the sound of his voice.

When he does come again, it's with Athos' release on his tongue--after what feels like an age of stroking him with fingers and tongue, slow, deliberate, giving Athos everything he's wanted to for so long. It's after dragging his eyes to Athos' face and wrapping his lips around the head of Athos' cock, filling every single one of his senses with Athos. It's after closing his eyes and letting himself go slack in Athos' hold, offering himself up for use because Athos will take nothing but the best care of him, because putting his trust in Athos has never once failed him.

He comes again, untouched, flooded with the euphoria of Athos' hands in his hair, of Athos in his mouth and his own name in Athos'.

When they've caught their breath, Athos hauls him up his body and pulls the blanket over them. He kisses d'Artagnan until he's sleepy and sated, wraps him up and holds him close, whispers in his ear as d'Artagnan drifts in his arms. Tells him _I'm here, I'll stay, this won't break me, it won't take me away from you._

"I won't let it, d'Artagnan," Athos breathes, his breath warm and real on d'Artagnan's neck. 

"I know," d'Artagnan murmurs against his chest, fighting the sleep that wants to take him. He's never felt as safe as he feels in Athos' arms right now. He could sleep for a year, safe and comfortable and so in love he could be in Heaven. "I know now."

Athos strokes his hair, holds him close like _d'Artagnan_ is the precious one, and d'Artagnan's going to have to correct him on that.

In the morning.

**Author's Note:**

> [if you need me,](http://tehriz.tumblr.com/ask) as always.


End file.
